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Past and Present [Apr. 26th, 2011|09:25 pm]
The Trainspotting fanfiction community


[mood |pleasedpleased]
[music |Common People - Pulp]

Title: Past and Present
Genre: Romance
Rating: R
Pairings: Sick Boy/Renton
Disclaimer: Not mine, sob.
Summary: Some things can't be left behind, nor should they be.
Warnings: Slash, drug use (duh), language.

I'm new and green as a cabbage. I don't know if anyone posts on here anymore, but I really hope they do, because I saw Trainspotting a few days ago and it both blew my mind and made me want to write Sick Boy/Renton slash until the cows come home.


It's not like Renton's not been here before. Well sort of. Maybe not specifically here, on his knee's in his flat with blunt finger nails digging into the back of his neck, but he's been close... ish. They've kissed. They've kissed a lot, when they're both high, and absolutely everything is infinitely wonderful, and it's no doubt very sloppy and undignified but it seems to add to the perfection, it seems to make sense. Then there's the shooting up itself, it sounds stupidly romantic, like trying to find some redeeming factor in a disgusting situation, but there's something kind of intimate, almost sexual, in injecting someone else. Or maybe it's just they who have that. The prolonged eye contact. The shared breaths. The painful, glorious anticipation. And then watching, transfixed, as the other falls into that familiar but no less thrillingly oblivious euphoria. Yes, maybe it is just them. The warmth too. Skag, he's often felt, being reminiscent of a hug – the best fucking hug you've ever had in your life – it can be nice, easier, to wake up with a warm body beside you (a breathing warm body of course or else you've got a different problem entirely) with you head on their chest perhaps, or their arms around your waist. It takes the edge off the comedown, is what he tells himself and anyone else who asks (not that anyone does) but maybe, just maybe, it's more about knowing that it's not just you, it's not just you who's in this dank and derelict flat, escaping from a life not nearly bad enough to warrant escaping from. You're not the only one who could have died but did it anyway (and whether it's because you're weak or because you just don't give a fuck depends on your mood.) You're not the only one letting your parents, who had such high hopes, down. You're not alone. Someone else understands. Sick Boy understands.

But that's in the past now. The skag that is, Sick Boy is very much here in the present. Renton's sucking him off right now.